


City of Lights

by littlelady1121



Series: Under the Stars [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Healing, Legolas Greenleaf & Tauriel Friendship, Love, Married Life, PTSD, Smut, legolas being sassy, old habits die hard, thrandiul thought it was going to be easy, thranduil being even sassier, thranduil loves his queen, travel across middle earth, we're going to completely change canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-04-06 07:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14052399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelady1121/pseuds/littlelady1121
Summary: Part 2 of Winter Song - Thranduil and his queen begin on their life, but then a surprise guest changes all they have longed for





	1. Chapter 1

Thranduil’s quill scratched quietly against the thick parchment. A shaft of sunlight spread out over the study’s carpeted floors, casting long shadows along his desk and settee and her harp. A carafe of golden wine, two empty goblets, and a warm loaf of bread waited by his elbow for his Gadrehal to return. His mist-gray tunic was a slight too warm for the day, and so his cloak was sprawled somewhere over by the fire.

There was a harsh squawk, cracking the silence he was wrapped in. Thranduil paused, barely, then continued on with his missive. There was another, more insistent crow. The king of the woodland realm glanced up. A very, very small line formed in between his brows.

The raven was staring at him. Again. The... feathery imp. It was perched on a branch in the gardens, head cocked to the side, studying him. Even with a pane of clear glass between them, Thranduil felt its eyes watching.

Not for the first time, did he wonder if there was some way to convince her to be rid of the wretched beast. Alas, she adored the abominable thing. He drew the line at it entering their sleeping quarters and there was minimal fuss, thankfully, with that. She crooned at it, leaving walnuts on the balcony and he was pleased that her back was turned and unable to see him roll his eyes to the stars, _Valar help him and give him strength_.

It hopped around on the branch and let out a series of very loud, very grating caws and Thranduil’s fingers gripped the quill so tightly it snapped. He scowled and swept to his feet. The room grew chilled, even with the spring sun filtering in.

How his queen expected _him_ to focus on his obligations with that dreadful brat hanging about he did not have the clairvoyance to know. He threw the broken quill roughly into the embers of brazier and then tapped on the glass with a knuckle.

“Silence.” Thranduil commanded. The thing twisted its head, so first one eye stared at him and then the other. It ruffled its feathers. The pair made no further gesture or movement. After another moment, Thranduil spun around and snatched another quill from a glass jar. He removed his pen knife to sharpen it with long keen strokes, attempting to focus on his task.

His frustration with that ever persistent raven had his fingers stiff. He crossed his legs and let the shavings curl and fall onto his desk. Thranduil was beginning to believe that bird took joy in disrupting his work when its mistress was not about. That was the fourth occurrence this morn alone. He had letters to write to Dale and Erebor and Imlardis, his spring feast to prep for, and at least one more discussion with Gadrehal about their upcoming nuptials and if that damned bird would be silent for more than span of a quarter of an hour, he would -

“My king?” Gadrehal’s voice was feather soft as she snuck into the study, barefoot and dressed in a festive moss green. Her hair was swept back into her preferred plait. The sight of him had his shoulders relaxing and his tightly wound thoughts to shake free.

“ _Mela_ ,” he greeted and held out his hand to her. She took it, entwining their fingers. She studied his face before tentatively touching his temple. He scowled as he took note of her lack of circlet.

“What ails you, my king?” She murmured, coming into the circle of his arms. His fingers pressed into her back and he tilted his head to look into her eyes. Ah, like autumn honey, warm and golden. Thranduil took in a deep breath, relishing the feel of her body and the softness of her dress and quizzical look in her eyes.

“Your bird. It is that _bird_ that ails me, _mela_.”

He tapped his desk with an impatient finger. His hand moved further up her back.

“Hmm,” she looked up and then back at him. “Have you thought, perhaps, it is you who ails my raven?”

Thranduil scowled deeply. His brows coming down low over his very stormy blue eyes, his mood darkening quickly. She pressed a very quick, very simple kiss to his lips. He was still scowling when she straightened and left his embrace. Gadrehal opened the door and held out her slender wrist, the raven immediately spread his wings and flapped over to her.

“Gadrehal -” Thranduil began, but his queen and the bird were already in his study. He glared at it. It glared at him. She gave him a soft smile and ran her fingers down the raven’s back. It preened under her touch. Thranduil wanted to throw his inkwell at it.

“He would not caw so loudly if you let him in doors more often.”

“Remove the bird, Gadrehal.” He gritted.

She did little to hide her quiet laugh. Thranduil watched her go, the door closing with a soft click behind her. The sunlight still casting bluish shadows along the study floor. A gentle spring breeze rustled the blossoming trees outside and he let out a sigh. At least, today, she did not adorn herself with that Dwarven belt.

He reminded himself, once more, that it was one battle at a time with his Gadrehal.


	2. Night Blooming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so another short chapter, I'm trying to set up where Thranduil and Gadrehal are at. I apologize as I have not written about these two in about 3 years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own any of these characters. Except for Gadrehal, she's my girl.

Gadrehal turned over onto her back, away from him and away from the heat that radiated off his smooth skin. She stared into the midnight darkness with a mind full of thoughts. Her mind was restless, churning like the rapids of the river that ran through his forest, and not one of her thoughts lead anywhere. It was just endless moving. Her body, though, was languid and soft from another evening spent in the arms of her lover and king. 

Yet the remnants of pleasure did naught to cool her mind. 

She rolled over onto her side, back to Thranduil and her fingers drew circles in the silk sheets, enjoying the texture. She wondered if Thranduil dreamed at all. What he dreamt of, when he did. She thought that everyone must dream. He never spoke of them. 

She felt her naked skin cooling in the air and the drapes billowed out with a breeze. The doors to their balcony were left ajar and when she closed her eyes against the night, all she could smell was the scent of night blooming flowers and she tried to remember what their creamy petals felt like. But Gadrehal opened her eyes again, still restless and still unable to sleep. Unable to calm her mind and its trillings. 

There was nothing, nothing really, that came to her only this uneasiness inside her. A jitter, like something unseen in the unbrush in the forest. A rustle of leaves and branches and a wind not felt. It was there, it had been for days. No amount of nights in Thranduil’s insatiable arms or mornings spent at the loom or afternoons spent in the gardens seem to quell whatever it was that plagued her. 

“ _ Meleth nin. _ ” Thranduil’s deep voice was slow and rough with sleep. She did not move as the bed shifted beneath her and his body pressed up against hers, skin on skin, warm and loving. His arms emrbaced her, slipping around her to bring her close to him and the tips of his hair tickled her side. 

“Even in my sleep, I hear your endless thoughts.” He kissed her shoulder. His hold on her tightened and she let herself melt into the comfort. 

“It is nothing.” She murmured, still peering into the dark, tracing the lines of the hearth and the chair where her own robe was draped. He grunted and his lips traced a line up her neck. 

“Do not lie to me.” He warned, fingers pressing into her hips and stomach. A thrill went through it, but she ignored her body’s sudden craving for his touch. It scrambled her already unsteady thoughts. 

Gadrehal did not wish to talk. In fact, she did not  _ wish  _ to be in bed at all, but rather in the river. Perhaps the chill shock of those blue waters would steady all that raved inside her. It was not anger or confusion or fear...just a feeling without words. She desired to be beneath the stars in the middle of a glen of trees with naught around her, no Elves, no kings or kingdoms, no Dwarves. She did not know why she felt such, felt such an overwhelming desire to be alone. 

“My thoughts are restless, my king.” She wished he would not pry. But she knew, Thranduil did not let it be. 

“Tell me.” 

Gadrehal sighed. The breeze blew in then and it sent a chill running up her spine. Thranduil chuckled, his breath a dark warmth against her skin. His hand moved lower so his fingers splayed over her stomach and pushed her body further into his. She felt the heat of her own wanting pool in her. For a moment, her thoughts stilled and she played with the idea, perhaps, if she lost herself to the pleasures of Thranduil’s hot kisses, the thoughts would still. 

He rolled over her, pinning her to the bed and letting his mouth rove of her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Her mind drifted, her flesh growing warm and tingling with sensation. She arched into him, wanting to feel his chest against her breasts, feel his mouth on hers.

Thranduil suddenly stopped his movements and grabbed her chin. Her eyes shot open, staring into his - they were shadowed, almost black in the night, haloed by his brilliant white-blond hair. He leaned down, still holding her chin, and kissed her with dangerous desire, his tongue slipping between her lips, tasting her. Her breath became heavy. 

“Do not think I have forgotten. You will tell me.” 

Her body quivered now, wanting him with more power than she thought she could contain. She did not think he would forget so easily. Her arms wrapped over his shoulders and she pulled him to her. She did not care. She craved his body in this nighttime darkness as much as she craved the silence in her mind. The forest and the stars could wait. 

His hands swept over her breasts and she panted, hungry now, hungry for him and the way her body took over, knowing what it craved so deeply. The darkness seeped in, a darkness she closed her eyes to, falling into the sensations that rippled through her. All she felt was him, the silk of the sheets under her, the scent of the flowers like a blanket. 

Gadrehal kept her eyes shut as her king made love to her: his touch driving away the fear and the restlessness and the churning thoughts that made no sense. 

And he was correct, always was her king. Do not think I have forgotten. For neither had she. This was not finished. 


	3. Chapter 3

Gadrehal dug her hands into the loose, rich soil, enjoying the sensation of it welling up over her hands and under her nails. She let it sift through her fingers, shaking it loose. The sun warmed her neck. She plucked another bulb from her woven basket and placed it carefully into the small nest she had made for it before covering it with dirt. 

The garden was blooming around her, vines stretching awake from the long sleep of winter and green stalks sprouting tall and strong from the earth. Sunlight, soft and golden, still blinking away the chill of winter, gathered in the space and leaves tilted ever so slightly to catch those precious rays. The statues stood newly cleaned of winter detritus. 

With the back of her smudged hand, Gadrehal pushed escape strands away from her face. She felt the streak of dirt that smeared over her forehead. But she was content. The pit within her did not seem so gaping, nor did it gnaw at her as it had for several nights since she first became aware of it. 

Thranduil insisted they celebrate with a feast. It was a nigh on a year since he rescued her, comforted her, healed her, all here in these gardens and the wide stone halls of the Woodland Realm. She cupped out more dirt, added another bulb for her autumn flowers. Such delicate flowers were difficult to find - they were delivered from Turin’s far off lands to the West, in Beleriad. They were a gift, Thranduil told her, for her coronation come midsummer. She did not particularly concern herself with that, but she did wholly delight in the papery shells covering the oval bulb. 

She could only image such colors - brilliant oranges and deep reds and midnight purples. Like sunsets painted onto delicate, curling petals. Not this year, perhaps, for the flowers would be new, but in the following years she would take the petals to use as dyes for yarn. As she once did with her sisters and mothers…

Gadrehal paused, one hand holding a small bulb and the other poised over the ground. An ache began just under her ribs, like someone clasped one of her lungs and persisted in squeezing. Her blood pulsed cold in her veins. She did not move, she not utter a sound or a cry. She just stared at the dark dirt, feeling the sting of the sun more acutely. 

Slowly, her eyes swam, a veil of tears covering her sight. The ache continued, spreading its tendrils over her chest and arms, until she felt herself rendered onto the ground. It had been so long, so, so long since she last truly thought of her mother. Indeed, with her life with her king and the years under the yoke of - of that beast, Samhi, the memory of her clan, her sisters, her  _ mother  _ had been lost. Maybe it had drifted and been left beside the road during those grueling years. 

And soon, she and Thranduil would wed, bind to each other under the stars, to ask for the placing of the Valar, to pledge to an eternity with one another. And it would only be her. Of course, her closest companions would be there. Thorin, and Biblo. Balin. Elrond and his two sons. Others who she did not recall. But not the Maghi. None were left to celebrate such a union. 

There would be no woven wedding dress, which combined the colors of her beloved’s clan with hers. There would be no sharing of winter pomegranates in hopes of conception of elflings, there would be no Songs of the Ancients sung, as she did not know them and none were left who did. Her people were gone, flung into the far corners of Middle-Earth. None had chosen to settle in the Mirkwood. 

She choked back the sob that sat in her throat. She placed the bulb into the dirt. There was nothing to be done. Gadrehal took a deep breath, the scent of freshly turned earth and crocuses tinkling her nose. Her wedding ceremony to Thranduil would be as lavish as he desired. He wanted them all to know of his love for her, for her new place as his queen and lover. 

It was not - it did not matter to her. She need not be so absorbed by the sliver of sadness that lingered. It had sprung about after their return from Erebor. She did not know  _ why  _ it returned, since the war was done, her Thranduil returned to her, and spring swept over the Mirkwood like a wind from the south and green came again. The Maghi left the wastes of Fornost, those few left, and came to settle in newer lands, lands of freedom and safety. 

Yet there it was. A restlessness within her that she could not quite put a finger on. She lay awake at night, teasing it, looking at the stars that burned in the blue-black sky. The stars remained as callous and unspeaking as those nights when she was a slave, begging for a relief that never came. She lay in Thranduil’s warm arms, acutely aware of his steady breathing and the silkiness of his hair draped over him and her. She lay there, attempting to smooth away the nameless sadness that hid somewhere within her. 

Time. It must be time that she needed. Time to adjust, again, from slave to servant to lover and now to queen. Thranduil reassured her that little would change for her. Her loom was still hers, her gardens, their quarters. Yes, there are required appearances at feasts, but naught else. She plopped another, and the last, bulb into the row. She lovingly covered it with dirt, murmuring lyrical prayers of love and growth, knowing how bright and bountiful their blooms will be come the rising of the harvest moon. 

Yet, should it not change? She pondered this, now and at her loom and in the evenings when they took their repast. As she played the harp or read to him. Should she not assist him more? Is that not what queens do? 

Yet what did she know about the state of a kingdom? The Maghi did not have queens or lords or high ladies. None of that nonsense. They spoke together, true with clan elders. 

Gadrehal stood up, hoping to be away from such cyclical and frustrating thoughts. It would lead her nowhere she desired to be. She wiped off the dirt on her dress, yet her fingers were lined with brown. She looked up to the study, Thranduil spoke to his son. They both looked grave - then again, they always looked stricken when they spoke to one another. She did not know what thorn lay between them and she dare not ask. 

Legolas saw her and raised his hand in greeting. Thranduil looked over his shoulder and she saw, instantly, the light that sprung into his eyes. His smile was small, but private. Only for her. Always...for her


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aiya - Hail
> 
> Also, a bit of a longer chapter, spring feast

Thranduil strode up behind her, his Gadrehal, who twisted in front of a long mirror, gilded with silver and white gold. Her hair was woven with fresh spring flowers and thin plaits. The tips hung to her mid-back now, grown thick and curling.

“Let me.” He stilled her movements with hands on her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her temple, brushing his lips over the thin scar. His palms swept down her arms and then took the girdle in his hands, tying the stays with expert fingers. It rested nicely on her hips, his colors of silver and woodland green. She looked radiant. Daylight had gone, leaving behind a misty twilight tinged with lavender. 

He was dressed to match, with more silver than green, adorned with rings and his high spring crown. His hair was pushed behind his sharply pointed ears and hung straight down his back. The last of his raiment, his long robes of brocaded silver thread and shot through with green silk, lay draped over their bed. 

The spring feast had been on the forefront of his mind for several weeks. The planning was always strict, their winter reserves mostly gone. Yet it was tradition to celebrate the spinning of the seasons, the blossoming of the Woodland realm now that the cold had past. For him, this year there was more to celebrate. His Gadrehal, his queen, would be beside him, and  _ that  _ was a grand gesture before his court. He knew that Elladan and Elrohir attended, a rare event. Not often did other Elves come for his Spring Feast. 

He looked over Gadrehal who turned and smiled at him. She took his hand in hers and not for the first time, did it remind him how small she was, how easily hurt…

Thranduil forcefully pushed those thoughts aside. Tonight was not that night, to think of how it was a year, a full year since he saw her tied to the back of a cart, unclothed and bleeding and bruised, her eyes raised in defiance of him. But as that day dawned closer, it was not only joy that filled him. 

His need to protect her filled him like a battle rage. 

“Do I please you?” She asked, innocently, eyes shining brightly, her fingers interlaced with his. His fingertip traced over the shell of her ear before he leaned down, cupping her face, to kiss her. He had forgotten joy and pleasure and happiness such as this. Something as  _ simple  _ as this, just the knowledge that he could kiss her how often as he pleased, whenever he pleased,  _ as much  _ as he pleased, and that in the mornings he awoke to her and in the evenings he came back to her. A comfort and a boon and a confidant. 

She laughed softly, pulling away. 

“I believe that is a sufficient answer, my lady.” He raised an eyebrow in challenge. 

“Very.” She responded, twisting the ring on her finger. The only jewel she wore was the ring he gave her several moons ago. As much as he offered, encouraged even, she refused most jewels and baubles. Yet the basket of flower bulbs from Turin set her tittering for days. 

He swept his robes over his shoulders, the garment thick and heavy over his shoulders. He decided to forgo his white oak staff tonight, no need for such at a feast. She took his arm as he held it out to her and they both stepped out from their chambers. 

A double row of guards dressed in full Elvish armor and regalia greeted them. They thumped their spears and cried out “ _ Aiya!”  _

Thranduil did not give them another glance as he strolled between, knowing without concern that they would fall behind. The chanting that reached her was mesmerizing, growing bolder and louder the closer they came to the Great Hall. The plucking of harp strings and the chorus of voices was not boisterous as was with dwarves or even her people, the Maghi. Instead it was as a breeze through rustling leaves or harmony of nightingales, individual and glorious and sweet as honey. She loved the singing of the Woodland realm, their soothing incantations. 

All rose when they entered through the arched double doors and into the Great Hall. Legolas sat to the right of her own empty chair, and Gimli on the other side of him. They wore no armor this eve, instead dressed into light woolen tunics, leather belts across their chests. Legolas’ hair was left down, but Gimli had braided his beard lavishly with colorful beads and silver tokens. She fought the urge to touch her own Dwarven rune she had stealthily braided into her own hair, for luck. 

The singing continued, softer and not at all hurried. Ethereal starlight filtered in through the gaps between the tree-like arches that crossed over the ceiling. It reflected from the smooth stone pillars, making the room seem to radiate like the Light of Earendil, shimmery and opalacent. Long tables already laden with red wines from Gondor and fresh fruit and game from the forest lined the long room. 

“ _ Aiya!”  _ The room chorused, raising glasses of wine or sweet cider. 

Her chair was pulled out for her, a goblet of wine thrust into her hands, and then she too raised it to the heavens. A new chant began, woven in and around the beautiful singing that echoed around the room. It was a single voice she did not place, an enchanting voice that rose higher and higher. 

Gadrehal watched in awe as vines began to crawl, ever so slowly, up around the tables, around the pillars and the doorways, each syllable, each beat of the song another leaf would grow, another vine would wind its way around the room. Flower buds appeared behind pointed leaves, unfurling like the slow blink of an eye awakening from sleep. 

Thranduil stood rigidly next to her, surveying the work, as the lone singer continuted her song, lilting and hypnotic. A creamy pink flower opened on the table in front of her and a scent of comfort and joy and sweetness greeted her. 

She was so entranced by the vines and the flowers and the river of song she did not notice its ending. It still hung inside her, and it was Thranduil who touched her arm, motioning for her to sit and drink from her cup. The wine was fruity. 

Instantly revelry sprung up all around her. The chanting faded away and hand drums and flutes took its place, filling the hall with a roll of laughter and voices and clink of utensils. Legolas nudged three rolls onto her plate and gave her one of his disarming smiles. 

“Beautiful, is it not?” He asked, a sliver of venison landing on his plate and then three onto Gimli’s. Gimli was halfway into a tankard of frothy ale that she was uncertain where it came from. Thranduil loathed ale of any kind. Once she finished small keg of mead upon their return there was positively  _ no discussion whatsoever  _ on trading for more. She did not press the issue. 

“I have no words.” She whispered back, sipping at her wine. Her smile was bright - she did not have the words for it, the beauty and the radiance of the ceremony. Her heart was ready to burst with the wonder of it. Her eyes glittered with pleasure. 

“Oh just you wait.” Legolas nudged her. “We save the best for later.” 

“There is  _ more? _ ” She asked him, ripping off a piece of her roll. He nodded, piling greens onto his plate. He cut into a citrus fruit and some of those quarters landed on her plate as well. Thranduil watched over his gathered realm, sipping at wine, but eating little. His crown glittered coldly. He did not smile or nod at any. His fingers briefly danced over the back of her arm. Some bowed to him as they passed by the high table, others nodded deeply at him, avoiding his gaze. 

“King Thranduil.” The twins - Elladan and Elrohir - came up to the table, bowing first at him and then again at Gadrehal. She smiled. She recognized them, barely, from a war council, but had never formally been introduced. Thranduil gave them both a slight dip of his chin. 

Although not identical, she saw the face of Elrond in them. Both had long dark hair, dark as midnight shadows and eyes as gray as winter sea. They were adorned neatly, in long tunics and bore no weapons or jewels. Simple and elegant, such as Elrond was. Although their faces remained impassive, Gadrehal noted mirth behind their eyes. 

“Lady Gadrehal.” Elrohir’s mouth quirked upwards. “It is a pleasure to see you hale and happy.” 

Gadrehal smiled in return. “Thank you. It is a pleasure to see you in happier circumstance.” She stood and she felt Thranduil watching her, even if it was from the corner of one steely blue eye. “May I offer you more wine?”

She picked up a pitcher in her hands. The twins bowed again. “It would be an honor to be served by you, my lady.” 

As a pair, they offered their goblets to her and she reached over, pouring the rich wine into their cups. They took small sips in thanks. She felt Thranduil’s hand land on her lower back, and a jolt went up her spine. She peered at him, noting the darkening of his gaze and the possessiveness she saw in his eyes. 

“It has been many a long year since any from Imlardis came to the Spring Feast.” Thranduil drawled, tearing his eyes away from her as she took her seat again and refilled his goblet and then hers. Legolas chatted with someone else and the dwarf. 

“Too long, my lord.” Elladan conceded. “We hope it is a sign of more peaceful times. That the Elves left here in Middle-Earth may travel freely to see one another and share in times of celebrations. Don’t you?” 

Gadrehal was not well versed in statecraft, but the way in which Legolas half choked on his wine told her whatever Elladan said was something important. She glanced between Thranduil’s strained but uninterested visage. He also took note of whatever subtly Elladon noted. 

“So you say.” He took a long, pointed drink of wine. Gadrehal felt the thrumming of the drums deep in the core of her body. 

“It has been so long since you have been to Rivendell, my lord.” Elrohir smiled charmingly. “Elrond sends his blessings and wishes that he could have been here himself.” 

Thranduil tilted his head, a small small movement and a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. “I have no doubt he does.” 

Gadrehal put her hand on his thigh. Elrohir chuckled, as if perfectly aware at the wall of stubborn he was to encounter. As if he was amused by the exchange. He glanced over at Gadrehal, still smiling lazily. 

“Our thanks, then King Thranduil, for your hospitality. We look forward to passing the spring here.” Elladan cajoled, sipping from his wine. 

Thranduil’s fingers uncurled slowly, as if showcasing his wealth and kingdom, motioning to the great hall around them. But he did not respond. He took another sip of his wine and looked away, to address a waiting Elf. Elrohir looked over at Gadrehal and smiled broadly, he raised his glass to her. 

“To my Lady Gadrehal, may stars shine upon your strength and beauty over all days.” He bowed at the waist, then raised his glance in Thranduil’s direction. The king’s hand covered Gadrehal’s on his thigh and squeezed, almost painfully. 

Legolas nudged her, watching the twins saunter off back to their table. Thranduil kept his hand on hers. Then another hand - Legolas’ - grabbed her elbow and took her to standing. And then Legolas and Gimli, without further ado, whisked her out onto the dancefloor. 

Thranduil’s fingers curled into a fist where once they held her hand over his leg. Her dress swished around her legs as Legolas’ twirled her in a circle. The flowers seemed like stars in the waves of her hair. She clapped her hands cheerfully before taking one of Gimli’s and one of his son’s and guiding them in a line of footsteps. They moved with such grace, such careless happiness. Others joined them, swooping in from the tables. Elf-maidens with lovers, merchants and guards. The drums beat faster, her spinning gaining speed. 

Then Elrohir and Elladan joined them as well. Thranduil remained still as stone, but his eyes watched her, then watched the twins join in the dancing with Legolas and Gimli and Gadrehal. They formed a circle, swaying and spinning and laughing. He watched her tilt her head back and let out a laugh he wished he could hear. 

She glanced back at him, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment, full of mirth and joy. Something in his heart clenched, watching her dance with such abandon. 

Thranduil stood up and the music dimmed. Gadrehal’s face was red with the dance and the wine. He saw the emotion on her face, so bright and open to him. He drained his goblet, the wine thick and he felt it warm in his stomach. 

He nodded and the lights dimmed around them, the music swelling and beginning in a new chant. Something slow but full of joy and hope and the sound of spring. It grew and grew, and Thranduil came up beside her. The music was like her garden at night, she felt the darkness settle but more was around her, more filled her, something that was beyond sight. Her gave her that private smile and then plucked one of the flowers from her hair. 

She watched as the flower petals began to glow, a very soft glow, like starlight in the flower. Gadrehal grinned excitedly and took in daintily in her hands, cradling the precious star petals to her chest. Thranduil took another from her hair, watching as she gazed around with wide eyes as all Elves gently took glowing flowers in their hands, cupping their radiance so it was just a line in the darkness, illuminating the undersides of faces and hands. He stood back, away as they all began filling out, towards the upper chambers, to where the all the creeks and the waterfalls gathered, to where there was no roof and only sky and stars above them. 

He followed, cupping one of those flowers gently, keeping his eye on her bobbing head in the shadowy darkness, the chanting rising and flowing around them as they wove up staircases and down the main hall. Night was around them and the scent of sweet spring was around them and the hope for spring was there. As they entered in the chill air, Thranduil noted Legolas touching her arm, bending low to hear her answer. 

The sky opened above them and a swath of stars, clustered and apart and breathtaking in its infinity of light. The swell of chanting and the gurgling of waterfalls descending into the pool. It was inky black and reflected the sky, the tiny lights. It was if they were inside a glass globe, with black sky and millions of white stars all around. 

Thranduil moved forward towards the circular pool, the crowd parting as he moved through them, a tall silver knife in the night. He passed by her and continued on, his hand glowing with the flower. Thranduil leaned down and let the blossom drift into the rippling pool. It went spun slowly, before the pull of the last waterfall took it. And soon all over, more glowing flowers slipped into water. 

He closed his eyes and pictured this pool, at the uppermost reaches of his realm, with the five waterfalls that fell into it. How that round pool then fed itself into one singular, long waterfall that dropped into his cavernous realm underneath. And now all these flowers lit up these dark waters, the winter has past, death of the woods have past. The waters, so liquid and pitch, soaked up the glowing flowers and the prismatic starlight. 

The songs rose to their last note - and then silence. No one moved, none spoke. It was pale light and the rush of steadily moving water, the hum of the waterfalls. He let his eyes move over all that gathered here this night, letting the silence blanket them as they watched the light dance and swirl and slowly slip over the edge. The flowers would travel along the many underground rivers and streams, passing underneath bridges and through the clear water pools until they sunk to the bottom, their lights slowly dimming and fading and returning back into the magical of the Woodland realm. 


	5. "Hear my heart speak, the very instant I saw you my heart did fly to your service"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> amin mela lln - I love you

Gadrehal returned, alone, to her sleeping quarters. The silence lasted for some time under the nighttime blanket of stars after they had each sent their glowing flowers into the water. The beauty of it had brought her to tears and she desperately wished Thranduil had been the one beside her. He had been so strong and sure as he placed the first flower in the water. She wanted to know what he thought as did so, what wishes had been in his heart, what hopes he had. 

She removed her girdle and her dress, letting them pile on a chair. She pulled on her sleeping shift, a gauzy slip that went down to her ankles but left her arms bare. The air was cool but her skin warm from the feast and the dancing. The blue-light crystals set in the walls glimmered in their sconces, casting a dusk like shadow over the room and her skin. She stepped out onto the balcony and began to unwind the flowers from her hair, laying them out on the balustrade. 

She felt complete, a soothing steadiness within her. The waters of her soul were still and content, no ripples marring the serenity. This was the joy she wanted, the one she craved. It was the night on the lake when Thranduil told her he was to make her his queen. Like a sunrise and not a sunset, and she thought it would be unending. She wanted it to be so. 

“My lady.” His voice came from close behind her, as soft and gentle as always to her, holding all the grace and power of the king he was. It seemed so quiet now, here in the darkness without the beat of drums and the lilting of voices. Even the crickets were asleep in their boughs. 

“My king.” She sighed, looking over her shoulder at him. He leaned against the doors, without his robe and crown, dressed only in his tunic and lazily holding a goblet of wine. He strolled over to her leisurely and assuredly. He came behind her, resting the goblet next to her flowers. His arms on either side of her, hands resting on the balustrade. 

With a single finger, he straightened one of the stems so it matched the others. 

“Did you enjoy the evening?” He asked. His body was warm and strong behind her, so broad of shoulder and protective, keeping her in close. 

“Very much so, my king.” She told him, stroking the petal of one of her flowers. “May I ask something of you?” 

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then whispered in her ear: “Always.” 

“What did you wish when you lay your blossom in the pool?” She turned her head just a little, so her eyes could rove across his face, to see whatever thoughts may reveal themselves. But her Thranduil beheld no emotion, nothing flickered through his eyes. 

“It does not matter.” 

Gadrehal turned around in his arms. A flower fell into the dark courtyard below, swallowed up by shadows and soundless as it landed. She took his face in her hands and he looked into her eyes, meeting her gaze. She never flinched away from him. Even when a storm brewed his gaze. 

“Truly, it does.” She told him. “To me, it does.” 

“I do not believe it is a concern of yours.” 

Gadrehal frowned. He left her arms, grabbing his goblet with more force than was necessary and strode back inside their bedroom. The blue lights lit his hair eerily, almost making him ghostly in the shadows there. He unbuttoned his tunic and flung it away. He was shirtless now, naked to the waist and his movements held that smooth quality that indicated his temper. 

Gadrehal followed him, wrapping her arms over his shoulders from behind. He sat on a low stool, removing his boots. She pressed her face into his hair and neck, breathing in the wonderful scent of him, holding onto the broad body. 

“I hoped to wake up with you always, Thranduil. I wished to rival the stars with all the years in which we lay flowers in that pool.” She paused and settled her chin on his shoulder. She wanted him to tell her. She wanted him to  _ confide  _ in her. “I wished for all this darkness to be passed us.” 

His hand came up and covered hers, but he did not speak. One finger began to trace the outline of the ring on her finger. His shoulders relaxed beneath her, the weight of his thoughts hovering in the room around them. She hugged more tightly. 

“ _ Amin mela lle.”  _ She murmured, letting go of him. He remained seated as she crawled into their bed. Two of the blue crystals flickered out, plunging the room into a deeper blackness. 

It was several long moments of utter silence, both awake and waiting for the other. Thranduil snapped his fingers and the last lights went out, leaving them alone in the night. He shifted. 

“I did not think of you,  _ mela. _ ” He finally spoke. He heard the bed sheets rustling as she moved around, listening intently. There was an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. A pang of sadness that had long been buried and rooted beneath the stony halls of his heart. He looked over to her form on the bed, picturing her eyes watching him, waiting for the wave of sadness that hit him. 

It did not come. 

“I sent my prayer to Iahalae, that she may rest safely in the halls of the Valinor, that she may know peace there.” Thranduil paused, uncertain of why his throat constricted so suddenly. The pain sharpened in his chest. She had been with him, bore him a son and killed in battle. He had loved her, back then he had loved, but as the years passed it was not such much love for her as bitterness and grief over her passing that he harbored. 

He had asked for her forgiveness as he let her memory lie, finally. He asked that she forgive him for loving another, that it was time to let her pass fully into the halls of the west. But this he could not say to Gadrehal. For this he did not have the words to speak out loud. She was gone. Gadrehal was here. There was no question, now, for how he must live. 

“Thranduil, come here.” She whispered softly. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Do not command your king.” He snapped, shaken at the rush and the pain of what he felt. 

She hummed gently. “Come to bed, my king.” 

Frowning, he lay down in the bed. He felt stiff and did not move to touch her. She immediately wrapped herself into him, her arms coming around him, moving so she lay her face on her favorite spot on his shoulder, her head tucked neatly between under his chin. She was warm. 

He thought for a moment Gadrehal might speak. Instead, she lay a hand over his chest and remained silent. It was a while before he came to realize, she had fallen asleep in his arms. And he knew then, that was her answer in and of itself. That was her comfort to him, that was her love. Steady and sure, resilient and trusting. 

He let his eyes close, let his heart calm its pain and guilt. There was nothing more, nothing more he needed or wanted. Only this. Just this. 


	6. Heavy is the Head that wears the Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we have Legolas, we have grumpy Thranduil, we have smut. It's the chapter with it all folks (and no not tall of that is at the same time)

“Enter.” 

Thranduil barked out the command sharply, not bothering to glance up from the pyramid of scrolls piled on his desk and the one in his long-fingered hand that demanded to spring back into cylindrical form. A gray light diffused the evening; a misty rain had been falling since that morning sending an unwelcome chill into the halls. His robes were still draped over his shoulders, a rich maroon brocade threaded through with white-gold. Even with the fresh logs on the fire, his study still felt cold. 

Legolas pranced into the room ignoring his father’s unpleasant tone, with two leather scroll cases tucked under his arm. He wore his favored plain green tunic, but had left his bow elsewhere. A thin leather baldric crossed over his chest. His other hand held onto a tankard of something light brown, frothy, and smelling of wheat. He nodded at his father and collapsed onto the settee with little grace. 

“Please - make yourself comfortable, Legolas.” His father’s voice was toneless and he still did not stop reading the missive he held. Thranduil’s back was to his son, head bent slightly as he read. An empty goblet of wine sat forgotten on the corner of his desk. 

“I will.” Legolas took a loud sip of the ale in the tankard, a line of froth coating his upper lip which he licked away. Thranduil paused, lifted his head, glanced at his son, and sneered distastefully at the gesture. Then he turned away sharply and went back to reading his missive. 

“Where is Gadrehal?” Legolas asked after a pained moment of quiet. 

“She shall be here shortly.” There was a pause and those dark blue eyes rose to turned his son’s. “Why do you ask?” 

Legolas held up one of the leather cases. He smiled lazily, crossing his legs quite reminiscent in the manner of his sire, before tucking the case away once more. A log cracked and sparked loudly in the ensuing silence. 

“We have received a gift from King Thorin and the kingdom of Erebor. Two letters for our lady.” Legolas saluted the king with a raise of his tankard. 

Thranduil considered his son, his very blase manner and drinking that wretched, stinking brown water that the dwarves call ale. Legolas had remained in Erebor for some weeks after the Woodland Court left for their home. Eventually he returned, again with that  _ dwarf  _ in tow, but had remained. 

Yet after that campaign into Fornost, Thranduil’s very small hope that relations with his son would grow less strained had waned. Now it was barely there. His son spent little time with him at court, showed even less interest in the daily duties concerning a kingdom, and went about wandering the forest, the halls, shooting off arrows in practice, and avoiding any public dinner. And when he did deign to join his king, he spent his time with the dwarf at one of the lower tables, with guards and the ilk. 

Thranduil had to admit. He did not understand his son. He loved his son, his heir, but he did not understand him. 

He knew Gadrehal was pleased to spend time with him, often he had heard that Legolas and Gimli kept her company at her loom. Thranduil rarely visited her there, but attempted when he could. A king’s duties did not cease because he had fallen in love. He was uncertain if she understood when he told her thus. A kingdom did not rule itself. 

He held out his hand. Legolas made no move to oblige him. 

“I shall give them to her.” 

“I can wait, Ada.” Legolas smiled again. Took another drink. The tension grew around them, the room becoming stuffy. 

“What do they say?” 

Legolas shrugged. “I did not read them. They were not addressed to me.” 

Why did Legolas insist on being so obstinate. Thranduil stood up, too swiftly for it to have been anything other than annoyance. He wanted to pace around. Instead he remained immobile, staring yet seeing nothing of the gardens. It gradually grew darker. 

“Ada, what is it?” 

Thranduil waved the question away. He did not have the inclination for idle chatter or expressing the pressing thoughts that weighed him down at the moment. He thought, wrongly it seemed, his time would become more free once the Spring Feast had come and gone. It was not to be so. 

Yet his son was still here, but when it was obvious he did not wish to be. But it mattered little. He had other matters to attend to, that needed his attention and concern. Trying to understand his son was a labyrinth he could not find himself lost in. 

There were attacks by spiders on his southern border. He had delegations from Gondor, Beleriand,  _ and  _ Imlardis either in his kingdom or in route. Elrohir and Ellahan deemed it necessary to remain in his kingdom until after his coronation and furthermore deemed it another necessity to be  _ with him  _ while he held court, while he dined, while he surveyed his daily tasks. If they had the chance, they most likely would take up roost in his own sleeping chambers if he let them. 

To make it even more muddied, he knew his Gadrehal wanted more time with him. Time he did not have. Time he could not give up. She kept to their routine, treasuring it almost, but he saw that small flicker of disappointment each time he left their table without her, and each flicker was another stab in his heart that he had to ignore. He did not have time, either, to dwell on this. 

“Ada?” Legolas prompted. His son did not need to hear of this. What was it to him that he had no time? What did his son know of reigning over a kingdom as vast and fathomless as the Mirkwood?

He did not hear the door to know it opened; the cool water that settled over his harried soul was enough. 

“Good eve, Legolas.” She sounded pleased. “Do I disrupt?” 

He assumed that the question was poised to both of them. His hands were laced behind his back, he watched a rivulet of rainwater struggle down the pane of glass. It turned abruptly. 

“Not at all.” Legolas told her. “I came bearing gifts!” He heard her moving around, opening the case, unfurling the thick parchment held within. He imagined the joy on her face, reading it. 

“ _ Mela.”  _ He murmured, a fierceness inside him wanting her. Thranduil needed to be alone with her. These evenings with her gave him strength, being with her, seeing her, holding her. It was a solace to know she was with him. Without her now, his reign over the Mirkwood was completed. 

“Bilbo and Thorin send their greetings, my king.” She chirped, pleased. “I must write them.” He heard her moving around, his eyes still looking into the edging purple darkness. 

“Send my greetings to Tauriel while you write.” Legolas interjected. 

“Most certainly.” Gadrehal’s reply was soft as Thranduil grunted. That had not dissipated either. It wasn’t so long ago that Legolas pined after that red haired elf. Maybe it was red hair that drew his son’s attention. 

“Gadrehal.” He said her name like it was honey and wine on his lips, tasting sweet and soothing all at once. This was the few hours he had with her, uninterrupted by advisors and worries. Today, the headache pounded against his skull, all of the thoughts crowding behind his eyes and he just  _ wanted to be with her.  _ Without Legolas - who needed to spite him at every turn. Without his advisors - who need not let him forget his duties. Without the insufferable twins of Elrond - who followed him, watching with sharp gray eyes. He just wanted to be with her. 

She came close, her hand touching his elbow, coming to his side and looking into his face. Storm clouds were brewing. The headache dulled. 

“Huh, well.” Legolas drained the dregs of his ale. “Have a night evening, Ada. Gadrehal, see you on the morrow.” 

And finally they were alone. He did not know what these feelings were in his heart, something heavy, something like grief, something like sorrow. Yet as he looked down, looked upon her face, soft and illuminated by the firelight, he knew he felt love for her like a burden and like grace. 

“My king, what ails you? I see a storm in your eyes.” She touched his brow, running her fingers through his hair. Her hand was cool. 

“A long day,  _ meleth.”  _ He needed her. He needed her to understand, he needed her love and that quiet, quiet strength. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her chin resting on his chest. 

“Then let us rest, King Thranduil.” She murmured softly, a worried look passing over her eyes like a mist. He ran a hand over her hair, fingers tugging at her plait, beginning to undo it. She pulled at him, guiding them over to the fire. She pushed off the robe from his shoulders, kissing both of his cheeks playfully. Once. Then again. It earned her a smile that ghosted over his face.

Thranduil sat down, leaning back into the chair and felt an unusual exhaustion hit his bones. His mind was in too many places. He closed his eyes, letting the sounds of her movements loosen each tense muscle. 

The lack of voices was calming. She had moved away: pouring wine, folding his robes, bustling around. She came back, sat on his lap, and held out a goblet of wine for him. He took it, only to perch it on a nearby table. The fire warmed his legs, his arms, his cheeks. 

“Will you speak to me?” She asked, leaning into him. His arm looped around her and drew her near. Just to hold her close was enough. 

“I find my days to be too short,  _ mela.”  _ He kissed the top of her head. “Summer fast approaches, with that comes our coronation, a renewal of trade agreements with Dale and Erebor. We are to be wed on midsummer, and as of yet more dignitaries clamor for invitations.” 

“No.” She interrupted, tilting her head to look at him sternly in his face. He raised an eyebrow, but instead of arguing kissed her on her lips. 

“Yes. A  _ small  _ wedding. I keep my promises.” He kissed her again. It helped, to the Valar it helped. 

“There was another attack by spiders on the border, on the morrow we shall investigate.” He sighed deeply. “Those twins follow me about everywhere and I do need them to accompany me there. They have been proven in battle, but the state of our borders is no concern of theirs.” 

“I shall entertain them.” She nestled into him, her forehead resting against his neck, tucking herself neatly into his body. 

“Will you now?” He asked, arms tightening around her. 

“Indeed. That is what queens do?” Her eyelashes fluttered against his skin, feathery. He rubbed her back and sighed. He did not particularly  _ enjoy  _ that idea, Elladan and Elrohir spending the day with her, her toting them around with whatever idea suddenly burst in her mind. Yet, it would remove the hassle and their endless questions. 

“Please?” She moved around, so to look him in the eyes. They seemed bright and willing, and dare he say, almost excited. It must be monotonous for her too, sometimes. Mayhap she looked for a break in her own routine. “Let me help.” 

Thranduil took a sip of wine before answering. “Yes, my lady, take them.” 

Then with wine still on his lips, he cupped the back of her head and drew her near, kissing her deeply and long. Letting her taste him. She made a soft sound of wanting, shifting to straddle him in the chair, her legs on either side of his. Her strong hands planted on his chest, her kiss became more urgent, more fierce, more demanding of him. 

She pulled away reluctantly, yet remained so close he felt the warmth of her breath. Desire blossomed in him like one of Mithrandir’s firecrackers, exploding and hot. It had been several nights since they had lain together. 

Whyever had it been so long? 

But yes, it was his long days and his confession to her on the Spring Feast that had him staying away, too late in the study in the evenings, returning to bed only once she had fallen into a fitful sleep. But she was here now, and he knew what she wanted. 

He slid his hands down her back, to cup her behind and very strongly bring her close to his body. She swivelled her hips to rub against his erection, biting her lower lip and letting her eyes flutter closed. Gadrehal tugged her dress up, exposing her thighs and letting the skirts bunch around her. Thranduil felt the growl in his throat, he  _ wanted  _ her. It was like fire through his veins, every particle within him yearning for her, for her touch, for the feel of her around him, next to him, the smell of her hair and the sound of her. 

Gadrehal began kissing him again, aptly untying his tunic, looking for skin. He stroked her thighs, seeking more of her, until he tugged a little too sharply at her dress and they both paused at the sound of ripping fabric. She shook it off, capturing his face in her hands and kissing him again, kissing him hard, kissing him with demand and desire, her tongue stroking his lips until his mouth opened. His hands slid up her body, over the scars and the skin until he cupped her breasts and run his thumbs over her nipples. She arched into his touch, aching for more, moaning into his mouth. 

She moved her hips, grinding him, until the pressure was more than he could hold. He broke from her kiss, one hand delving into her hair and another sliding under her legs to lift her. Thranduil stood up, she began kissing his jaw, his neck and he backed them into the closest wall. 

“Thranduil…” she gasped, her legs wrapped around his waist, arms wrapped around his shoulders. He kissed her deliciously, savoring the softness of her skin, nipping at her collar bone. He undid the stays of his breeches and with a very swift thrust, he was inside her. She gasped, nails digging into his back from the unexpectedness of it. 

“Please,” she whispered against his shoulder. Her hair was around her face, her back against the wall, and he was inside her, thrusting wildly in a desperate need. It was a wildness and desire that was like a hot brand, burning him towards release. He braced one hand against the wall by her head, leaning into her to kiss her more deeply. She clutched him, her breathing hitching and rising. 

With a small cry, she reached the peak of her pleasure, breaking their kiss for but a moment before he captured her lips again and picked up his pace. Her breasts pushed against his chest, nipples grazing his skin with each thrust into her. Until his own pleasure exploded throughout his body, the raging desire coming to an apex that was blinding. He wrapped his arms around her, leaning his head onto her shoulder, hair drifting around the two of them. 

She gently brushed it behind his ears, hands drifting over his back. The base of her palm rubbed down his spine that he had come to adore. The pressure of it was soothing. 

“Hmm, my king, thank you.” She kissed his cheek, then his jaw. He grunted, holding her tightly. Thranduil stepped back, sitting down in the chair, once again her naked and straddling him. He leaned back, with his eyes closed as she cuddled close. The desire ebbed, leaving him warm and contented. 

“I love you,  _ mela. _ ” He whispered, his throat hoarse. She kissed the corner of his mouth. It quirked up in a half smile. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some fluff, shorter chapter, but could be possibly relevant to furthering our story along

They lay on a blue blanket in front of the fire, which flickered and danced happily in the hearth. Rain still pattered gently against the glass. Clothes had been abandoned and forgotten easily, shed willingly in their amorous embraces of earlier. Darkness had long since set, the fire their only source of reddish light that bathed over them. His maroon robe was partially draped around them both. 

Thranduil tucked her into him, as they both lay on their sides. She lazily read one of her books, the bindings smelling of new leather and ink, still dusty from fresh parchment. Elrond’s twins gifted her several new tomes with their arrival. She had loosely braided her hair again and nestled herself as close to him as possible. He propped himself up on an elbow, reading over her small shoulder, the other hand resting on her hip, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over the three claw marks on her side.  

“What entertainment do you think for the twins tomorrow?” He asked quietly, planting a small kiss to her bare shoulder. She shrugged it. 

“I plan to show them my workshop.” She hummed, then lazily flipped to the next page. Thranduil shifted the trade proposal from Ithilien towards the firelight. Mirkwood had always been known for its bows, its superior armor, and now under the direction of his beloved, it seemed there was new demand for their cloth.  Plus Faramir, the Steward of those lands, came to him for advice on the growing population of Maghi that took up under his protection. 

Thranduil kissed her cheek again, thinking of the hundred or so Maghi that came, frightened and in the throes of grief. It was to be a long road for them all. 

“Is that all?” He asked. 

“Hmm, no. I am not certain. Perhaps I shall have Legolas challenge them to an archery contest.” 

“Excellent. The dwarf will be with you then.”

“ _ Gimli  _ will be with us, yes. And I do believe Elrond’s sons detest dwarves even more than you do, my king.” 

Thranduil snorted. “We shall all dine together, I think, for our evening repast.” 

“I would enjoy that.” She shut the book with a soft thud. She sighed with exhaustion and lay her head on his upper arm. 

“Bilbo and Thorin will pass through in a fortnight.” She told him, turning to bury her face into his neck. His hand slid over to her lower back, stroking up her spine. 

He grunted in displeasure. “Whatever for?” 

He felt her hot breath as she yawned. He planted a kiss to her head. 

“They plan to visit the Shire. Bilbo wishes to see his old home, a place called ‘Bag-End’, where his nephew, the Ring-Bearer Frodo now lives.” 

“Ah, how pleasant.” Thranduil said absently, reaching the end of Faramir’s letter. “What does that have to do with us?” 

“Bilbo requests to dine with us for two nights.” 

“With Thorin?” 

“Yes, with Thorin.” She paused. “I would very much like them to dine with us.” 

“You will have me now deal with the pestering of Elrond’s twins, my son, and furthermore now for two evenings with that dwarf and his meddlesome hobbit?” He sighed. Thranduil already knew the answer. 

“Yes.” 

Thranduil sighed deeply. It wasn’t too much to ask, not really. She was, for whatever reason that was beyond him, enamored with Bilbo and deeply respected Thorin. Then he narrowed his eyes. 

“Will Dis be with them?” 

“I do not believe so.” She looked up into his eyes, questioning. 

“So be it. I will only permit that she-dwarf on my doorstep once an age. It was either this, or the wedding. Not both.” 

“Oh.” She tried to hide her frown. His dislike of dwarves confused her. But she did not ask for an explantion. Not that he would have given her one. “I will plan it.” 

“You will?” He kissed her gently on the lips. Enjoying the softness of her skin against his, her warm body, the curves of it, pressed into him. Her exhaustion, though, was palpable. 

“I read that queens oft plan feasts for dignitaries and guests of importance. I want to do this.” 

“ _ Mela,  _ you need not do anything, if you so desire.” He reassured her, as he had dozens of instances before this. 

Gadrehal wiggled around, suddenly restless. “I do  _ not _ like sitting around, with naught to do but weave and look longingly out windows.” 

There was a note of ire in her words that was unexpected. He did not wish to argue with her, but her persistence in inserting herself into royal duties was endearing but needless. She was to be his queen, she did not have to do such tasks. 

“Please, Thranduil,” she sighed, bumping her forehead into his chest. “I wish to do this.  For my friends.” 

Thranduil remained silent, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, but for this, it was hers if she insisted so strongly. He did not feel the overwhelming urge to plan a royal dinner for the dwarf-king at the moment. 

So he nodded and kissed the top of her head. Gadrehal murmured her thanks and the two relapsed into silence once again.   


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm sorry it took me so long to post, um adulthood is tough and takes up a lot of time

“Come now, Legolas, surely you are not afraid of a little competition.” Elrohir cajoled, stringing up a long bow of polished yew wood. He and his twin were dressed in dark blue tunics with silver threaded trim. Their dark hair was pulled away from their strong jaws, and whereas Elladan remained stoic, his brother grinned broadly. 

“Yes, please, Legolas.” Gadrehal smiled, her cheeks flushed from their long ride through the forest paths. A few other Elvish guards milled around in the edges of the archery field. A hawk cried out somewhere in the sky above, a cloudless pale blue. Their horses were tethered behind them, chomping on the grass. Gimli opted to remain at the palace with her raven. And so the four of them gathered under the shade. 

She grabbed Legolas’ hand, tugging. “Please.” 

He quirked an eyebrow. Her face was bright with excitement and mirth and sun. The twins had regaled her with stories since they met this morn, making her blush with their entreaties. Elrohir especially, kissing the knuckles of her hand in greeting and comparing her beauty to the Valar. Legolas was only slightly disappointed his father wasn’t there to hear such and watch the ensuing explosion. 

Legolas stood up, striding over to Elrohir, the more accomplished of the two with the bow. “I did not realize, Elrohir, you were so keen on losing in front of our Lady.” 

“Cocky, aren’t we, little Greenleaf?” 

Legolas scowled - they hadn’t called him that in  _ ages.  _ Literally. He strung his bow, flicking his thumb over the string to test its tightness. Sunlight gathered in the pools of Gadrehal’s dress like water, her hair swept back and the circlet missing from her brow once again. 

“Little Greenleaf?” She asked, smoothing down her green skirts and sitting on a fallen tree. She looked between the three of them. Her eyes gathered an energetic excitement and Legolas’ tried to squash the pang in his chest. He had sensed that growing...boredom, perhaps that was it, cooped up in the halls of his father. Sequestered away behind smooth stone walls and columns carved like roots 

“Oh, my lady, it is just a fond name we once called our Legolas when he was a wee lad. Don’t you remember, Legolas?” 

Legolas grunted. He remembered, unfortunately.  Yet her smile grew and...Legolas rolled his eyes, fitted an arrow to the bow and let fly. It flew with a soft hiss, hitting its mark easily at the far end of the field. He looked over at Elrohir, who nodded with satisfaction. 

Elladan went next, also hitting his desired mark. He pulled at the bow string, testing its strength with a small frown. Elrohir pulled back, then paused. 

“We have not discussed our prize.” He threw a glance at his twin, then to Legolas. Gadrehal tilted her head, waiting. 

“Honor?” 

“I do believe I have plenty, my lady.” Elrohir replied. “I was thinking something more substantial.”

“But not a humble bone within you.” Legolas murmured. 

Something flickered over Gadrehal’s face, a brief faltering of her smile. “Oh? Such as?” 

“Perhaps a kiss from the lady?” Elrohir offered,  _ twanging  _ his bow. 

Silence fell with a sickening weight. The wind stilled and only the sound of birds filled the spaces between their breaths. Elladan glowered at his brother, his shoulders tightening. Legolas huffed a laugh, glanced at Gadrehal. She was as still as the air around them, hands in her lap, one finger rubbing the ring that marked her as Lady of the Wood. Her head was cocked to the side, as if considering the proposal. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Legolas whipped around and shot off another arrow, which caught a falling leaf and pinned it to a tree. “I don’t require any prize, and we all know, you will not be winning this.” 

Gadrehal’s eyes took on a glint that Legolas was uncertain of. Elrohir noticed, his mouth curving upwards in a smirk. She studied him, her eyes tracing his shoulders and brow as if carving a haunch of venison. 

“Often in Imlardis, our sister Arwen would honor us with her affection should we win our contests. Why do you think the King Elessar is so skilled at the bow?” Elrohir laughed. 

“This is not Imlardis, Lord Elrohir.” Gadrehal warned. “But let me see what skill you have that you have boasted about.” 

The black haired elf nodded, then glanced at his brother. Elladan was still frowning and Legolas had the small inkling that this was part of some growing private argument. 

Elrohir pulled back on the string, considering. The string snapped and his arrow flew, severing Legolas’ second arrow through the middle, the fletching coming undone. Gadrehal cried out, her hand to her mouth and then giggled. 

“I do not see how that can be outdone!” 

Legolas rolled his eyes. He peeked over at Elrohir, who watched Gadrehal. What was that Elf up to? 

 

Legolas helped Gadrehal into her saddle, where she settled her skirts about her. He caught her eyes flicking over to Elrohir, swinging gracefully into his own leather saddle. Legolas cleared his throat softly. She wrapped her hands around his own, sighing, almost guiltily. 

“They are kind.” She murmured, her gaze on the soft needles of the ground. The horse shifted slightly. Legolas only nodded, but yet he did not think it was kindness she craved from them. Neither did he think it was love, her devotion to Thranduil could not be questioned. As Elrohir’s throaty laugh sounded behind them, he saw her bite her lip. 

It was their joviality, their humor and playfulness. 

The reason so many Maghi choose Imlardis to settle became clear to him. As much as the twins irked him, he knew them to sing to the stars on clear nights and for their laughter to graze the treetops with birdsong. He knew the elves of Imlardis to build great bonfires and play music in vast courtyards open to the skies. It was the last Homely House for a reason. 

“They  _ are  _ kind.” He told her, not wishing her to feel unhappy that she enjoyed their company. Still her eyes remained on the ground. He moved away towards his own horse. 

“My Lady Gadrehal, it was a pleasure this day.” Elladan moved his horse closer to hers, a big rowan with white forelocks. 

“Tis a shame we do not see you.” Elrohir sighed. “You hide so well in that vast kingdom.” 

“I have a garden.” Yet as the words left her mouth, she began to frown. It was a small courtyard, inhabited by so little, watched over by her king. A garden with walls….

“May we see your garden? We have heard wonders of your gifts with the greenwood.” Elladan asked, he plucked a white blossom from a nearby tree, he passed it over to Gadrehal. “For you, my lady.” 

“You must ask Thranduil, as it is in his quarters.” 

“Ah.” Elrohir rolled his eyes. “Yes, the king.” 

An ire rolled through her but dissipated as quickly as it sprung. Was her garden truly her own if she could not, but - then. She paused her thoughts, not wishing for the brambled path they ran towards. Thranduil loved her, deeply. It was his kingdom, she but his queen. 

“Perhaps one day you shall.” She answered quietly, running a finger along the silky petal. But she knew it was not a day soon in coming. 

“And perhaps, we may enjoy the lightness of your company tomorrow as well?” Elrohir ventured, nudging his horse into motion. Legolas, farther ahead, looked over his shoulder at them. His bow hung from his quiver, strapped to his back. 

“I do not see why not.” She smiled, happier for the change in topic. They could go to the river where she swam or wander the trails that lead to Dale, whistle tunes for the birds and she could show them the meadow of wild flowers that began to bloom with dazzlings colors. “I shall ask Thranduil!” 

A dark expression overcame Elrohir’s face, his eyes quickening. Without thought, he grabbed her hand, squeezing. “You do not need to ask permission of  _ anyone. _ ” 

Shocking herself, but keeping her face smooth as winter ice, she only blinked at Elrohir. Elladan whispered a warning, the air in the forest tight, anticipating. Was it true the trees reported back to the king? “Thranduil is my king -” 

“And  _ you  _ are Maghi. You have no king.” 

Speechless, angry, but most of all, shying away from something unknown, a wellspring that answered to that - she pulled back her hand and urged her horse first into a trot, and then passing Legolas, into a canter. 

Gadrehal let the wood close around her, hoping the fresh smell of leaf and flower and muddy earth would fill in the hole that somehow opened up inside her chest. 


End file.
